


Wake Up

by twyly56



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Child Stiles Stilinski, Claustrophobia, Crossing Timelines, Cute Stiles Stilinski, Descent into Madness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finn Needs A Hug, Friendship, Healing, Hospitals, Hurt Finn Mikaelson, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paralysis, Psychological Horror, Reading Aloud, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sweet Lydia Martin, Timeline What Timeline, Vomiting, vampire blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: Is it any wonder that Finn went mad after being in a box for nine hundred years, unable to move or speak, with only his own mind for company? Even his own mother can't keep him in one place, and he winds up in California somehow. He gets hit by a car and blacks out for a moment, retreating back into his mind. Finn is brought to the hospital, and the doctors think he's in a coma. He wakes up to a child's voice speaking above his head.





	1. Chapter 1

There were times when Finn just wanted to  _scream._ There were  _many_ times. And now was one of them. Heavy, so much heavier than ever before, the urge to do so was tearing his chest apart. He clutched at his shirt, fingers curling against the taut flesh beneath. He started clawing at his own skin, aching for release. His mouth refused to open. His eyes remained resolutely pressed shut, his arms laying limply by his side, cold grey veins sticking up from the deadened flesh. He could feel the moments he meant to do, phantom twitches flashing horribly in his limbs, and it made the scream in his chest, stopped forever inside his throat, feel even more unbearable. Finn wanted to _scream._  

He could tell when he was being carted around, the scritching sound of his coffin moving grating on his hypersensitive ears. He could hear every single footstep that walked past him. He could hear every breath or lack thereof. He could hear their words. He could hear his siblings being awoken from their dagger induced slumber. Yet he still remained, frozen in place and unable to speak, unable to move in the slightest. Finn had only the company of his own thoughts, despite being at times only feet from his brothers and sister, forced to listen to them go about their lives, without a thought to him. This was agony. He wanted to die. 

 

Finn was at last able to see clearly when he registered light behind his eyelids, and he heard the door of his coffin open. Fingers wrapped around the handle of the dagger embedded in his chest and drew it smoothly from him with a squelch, dislodging surprisingly easy considering the fact it had remained in the same place for centuries. Finn's movement did not immediately return, but it took him only a few moments to snap his eyes open. The first face he saw was Elijah's. He looked rather different, both his hairstyle and clothing foreign. Finn pushed himself into a sitting position, and his younger brother helped him out of his coffin. 

He noticed an identical dagger sitting next to his on the dark table, and he could see his sister and younger brother lying in coffins of their own, grey and limp. Finn kept the anger and emotional turmoil he had pressed inside, held as tight as the scream. It took a few more minutes for Rebekah and Kol to wake up, and they clambered out of the coffin on their own. Elijah put the daggers under a cloth and gave them to a human girl to carry on a metal tray. It had been rather satisfying to stab Niklaus, but it was only in the hand. Nothing that he could inflict on his brother would make up for the nine bloody centuries that he was locked away. Mother had put an end to their activities. 

 

 _No one_ understood. Finn stormed forcefully to the closet, trying to occupy himself.  _They watch and they_ laugh. They called what had happened 'sleeping'. Perhaps it had been so for them, but not him. He threw his clothes in a scattered pile on the futon and dropped down to his knees. His breath seemed to stutter out of rhythm.  _I’m dying inside but they can’t_ see. He numbly folded and unfolded every piece of clothing into a pile again and again.  _Distract yourself._ But he was failing. Tears were aching behind his eyelids.  _That’s right. Focus on the folding. Not your thoughts. Don’t think. Just_ fold.

His hands started to shake trembling almost violently. No, his entire body did.The thoughts were occupying his mind again.  _They don’t care._ _Of course they don’t._ The barbs continued, the fears continuing to make themselves known. He told them to stop, out loud or inside his head he was not really certain. None of his siblings came into the room, so he assumed the former to be true.  _Please stop saying it. Stop saying it. I already know._ Finn was squeezing his eyes shut now, jaw clenching, palms bleeding from his fingernails digging so hard into his flesh. 

Was he in the coffin again? Was he in the house, the bedroom? He  _couldn't see._ Everything was morphed. He could not make it out, couldn't make it out, can’t make it out, can’t can’t,  _can’t._ The pile of clothes was knocked over, each precise fold rendered nothing in an instant. He stood and spun on the spot because he needed to move, but he did not need to move. He wanted to stay still but did not want to either. His mind was just a mess, his chest aching, and his eyes were tricking him, alternating between light and darkness, freedom and prison. Blink, don't blink. 

The tears had yet to come, would probably never come, and it killed him. It built up like stress, like pain, like the constant urge to  _scream._ He had still it frozen in his chest. Every breath he took he just wanted to release it as his unbidden scream. It might be night, they might be sleeping, but he was alone, utterly alone, in his world. And the sound that erupts brought  _life_ to him. Finn let it all out, the pain, the stress, the complete  _panic_. The tears finally dripped down, streaking down his cheeks burning hot, and he cried with relief and joy. His face clenched in a wretched sob, choking him and cutting off his breath. He was hyperventilating now, disoriented and drowning in his despair. 

Finn remained half kneeling, half curled on the floor, horrid choked sounds, panicked and breathy escaping him. He tried not to close his eyes, but he could not resist the urge to blink. Every time he did so, he was trapped again, the wooden door of the coffin looming over his head, suffocating. Each breath made him ache. It was a human reflex, breathing, one that was no longer necessary, but he would rather choke than stop. Finn sobbed quietly, feeling the carpet dig into his bleeding palms as he collapsed further. His forehead rested against the ground. His breath resounded in his ears. He shuddered. 

 

He did not quite know where he was. It was dark and near a busy area that had cars running across it when his luck finally ran out. He was not really paying attention to the road. He was not used to having to do such a thing. It was too late by the time he noticed. He spun on his heel in time to see a red car speeding towards him. It was slowing down but not enough. The phone clattered from his hand, skidding across the hard asphalt. There was barely even time to move if he had chosen to. Time seemed to slow down. His heart thudded behind his ears, his legs carrying him out of the way but in vain. The time it took to close the distance between him and the vehicle felt like several agonizingly long years, rather than the few seconds that it really was.

And then, impact. 

His body was thrown forwards, curling through the air, and then landing hard, limbs spread limply like a doll's. The ache of hitting the ground spread throughout his body, at first in bursts of pain, and then all consuming agony. His eyes were tightly shut. The smell of burnt rubber was in his nostrils but he could not seem to move to get away from it. He was not really sure how to do anything in that moment. He could not work out how to open his eyes. He could hear, distantly, that there were people around him, shouting even, sirens and panic. None of that particularly mattered to him as his eyes had fallen shut once more. Blackness surrounded him, and he was trapped inside his coffin, frozen in place. Everything else faded away. 


	2. Chapter 2

He could still feel his mom's chilled hand in his own. His hands were scrunched in his jean pockets, balled into small fists, but he could not shake off the clammy feeling that he was left with. He could still the sweat that glistened on her forehead, and the vacant looks that his mom gave him, not even being able to see anything past the pain, her brown eyes glazed. Scott's mom was a nurse, and she had pulled him out of her room after he had stayed there for nearly the whole afternoon, taking him to the cafeteria to eat. He wasn't really hungry, but he managed to choke down half a plate of bland hospital food. 

His damp sneakers squeaked on the blank white linoleum floor. Doors lined the hallway, passing him by in a greyish blur. The boy moved his hands and clutched his backpack straps, worn from use and small fingers constantly tugging at them, as he walked down the hallway, lit by the bright florescent lights overhead. His oversized hoodie was pulled up over his head, still a bit damp from the drizzle outside. He followed behind the nurse, and she unlocked the door to the patient's room for him. Stiles stepped inside the room, blinking as his eyes fell on the man in the hospital bed. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that he was just asleep. 

His dark brown hair, almost the same color as Stiles's own, was that curly sort of wavy like Lydia's got after she washed it and let it air dry and long enough that it fanned out behind his head, curling against the starchy white pillow. The boy thought he kind of looked like a pirate. A comatose one. The clipboard by his bed just listed him as John Doe. Apparently, he had been in a car accident. For someone who had gotten hit by a car just a week earlier, Stiles was surprised by how normal he looked. Though maybe his injuries were somewhere under that blanket of his. He couldn't tell. The nurse smiled kindly at him. 

"You shouldn't expect him to wake up or anything while you're here, but in the off chance that he does, just press this button over here. Okay?" she said. The nurse indicated to the button on the wall by the bed. He nodded, his thumb rubbing in the groove of his backpack strap. "Just remember to read whatever you brought, and I'll come back for you in a couple of hours." 

"Yes. Thank you," Stiles responded politely. 

"Try not to stay up too late, sweetie," the nurse reminded him in a gentle voice. 

"I'll try," Stiles said. 

The door clicked shut behind her as she left, her tennis shoes soft on the linoleum. The silence felt deafening. The boy stood there for a moment, feeling awkward, just staring at the man in the bed. He wondered what color his eyes were. Was that weird? Shrugging to himself, he slipped off his backpack, and he set it by the chair as he sat down. He held his library book in his hands, and he flipped it open to the first page.

"So... hi. I just got this book from school today. I haven't read it either. So we can go through it together. Isn't that neat?" Stiles said. He glanced up at the man. The boy cleared his throat, swallowing. "Right. Anyway... uh, here I go... _In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort_..." 

 

The initial moment of awareness brought only blank thoughts and numb senses. Finn was merely conscious, but not yet conscious of anything. His mind was completely disconnected from anything, almost as if he were floating through a thick fog. Finally, he was able to structure enough of a dim thought to realize that he was completely confused. Seconds ticked by, and Finn's mind functioned sluggishly. Why was it so dark? He could not tell if his eyes were closed. Where was he? The blackness made his chest contract with terror, and his hand twitched by his side. The small movement brought him relief. He was not in his coffin. Unless this was all in his head. 

He gradually became aware as he calmed down that he could hear something. A child's voice was speaking somewhere above his head, off to his side, and he could hear a steady human heartbeat and the subtle rustle of what sounded like paper. None of these things caused him to feel less confused. It did make him feel less panicked, however. The young voice remained smooth and steady as the child continued to speak. His words made no sense to Finn in the slightest, but it was the sound of it, the rhythm behind his speech, that calmed his terror. 

"... _All that the unsuspecting Bilbo saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which his long white beard hung down below his waist, and immense black boots._

_'Good morning!' said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat._

_'What do you mean?' he said. 'Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?'_

_'All of them at once,' said Bilbo. 'And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all the day before us!' Then Bilbo sat down on a seat by his door, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill_..." 

Finn heard the child pause to take a breath, swallowing, and he let his eyes crack open. He could make out the small boy, dark hair cropped even shorter than Kol's had been, sitting in a chair of some sort next to whatever bed he was lying upon. His small hands held a green book up under his face, his brown eyes peering down at the words written across the page. Finn shifted a bit to lean up on his elbows, and he felt the brush of cool air against his bare feet as the white cloth hanging over him lifted up. He could have sworn that he had worn shoes before going out. The boy jumped a little when he noticed that he had moved. 

"Oh! Wow. Hi. You're awake," he said. Finn just stared at him for a moment. "Uh, I was just, uh, reading to you while you were, ya know..." He made a loose flopping motion with his free hand. "...doing your coma thing? It's part of a patient wellness program thing that I volunteer for since I'm here all the time for my mom, and Dad doesn't have the time to stay home with me every day. Keeps me occupied, and it's supposed to do people good, you know?" The boy gave him a smile. 


	3. Chapter 3

The man's eyes were brown. Stiles was beginning to feel a bit nervous as the man continued to stare at him. Very intensely, all of his focus seemingly on the boy. If he had thought he looked wild in his sleep, the fierceness of his features seemed to only sharpen when he was awake. But there was this honest, almost childlike surprise on the man's face that kept him from freaking out. It was as if he had never seen anything like Stiles before. Maybe he wasn't used to being around kids. Stiles slowly lowered the book down to his lap, and he gave the man a friendly smile. 

"You're not so much with the comatose anymore I see  - being awake and all." Stiles paused, shifting the book closed with the bookmark lodged inside to mark his page. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" the boy asked. "I mean, you look okay, but what do I know? I'm no doctor. You could have internal bleeding or something... uh, I could come back later, if you want me to, that is."

The man just continued to stare at him, silent. The air felt heavy in the room, and Stiles jiggled his leg anxiously. 

"Or not at all, I guess, if this bothers you, although I was about to get to the part with the dwarves, and that's supposed to be really good. I was reading you the first chapter of _The Hobbit,_ which is like, an awesome prequel to a great book series, and I don't see how anyone could find that annoying or anything but-" he started to say. 

The voice that spoke was smoother than he expected, with a strange accent that was sort of British but not. He had never heard one like it. Probably one of those small European countries he glanced at sometimes in the atlas book. Nonetheless, it nearly made Stiles jump out of his skin at the unexpected sound. 

"What is your name, boy?" the man asked. 

"Oh." He looked down and blushed a little. "It's Stiles," he said. 

"Stiles?" the man repeated with a slight frown. 

"Yeah, I know, it's weird," Stiles said, giving a small sigh and tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair. 

"I do not think that it is so strange," the man told him. The blanket pooled down in his lap as he moved into a sitting position, leaning against the back of the bed. His curly brown hair cascaded down to his shoulders, tumbling a couple inches past. Stiles hadn't seen guys with long hair like that except in the movies. 

"Oh, uh, thanks." He smiled shyly. "What's your name?" Stiles asked. 

"My name..." The man blinked. "...is Finn Mikaelson," he replied. 

"That's a cool name," Stiles said. 

"...thank you?" Finn responded. It sounded more like a question than a statement. The man shifted on the bed again, pulling his legs up under him and crossing them. Stiles could see the tips of his bare toes poking out from the edge of the white blanket. 

"Do you, uh, want me to go?" the boy asked, gesturing toward the door. "I have to call the nurse in anyway. She probably would want to check on you, now that you're up." 

"Would you return if you left?" Finn asked quietly. 

"Ah, I see. The allure of Tolkien is too great to bear. Don't worry. I'll come back if you want me to," Stiles told him with a smile. 

"I must confess I do not know who this... Tolkien is," Finn said. 

"Dude. No way. Seriously?" Stiles gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his book. " _The Lord of the Rings_? _The Silmarillion_? Ringing any bells?" 

"I am afraid I must say not. Nor are any bells ringing for me," Finn said. 

"You poor, poor soul," Stiles responded, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Finn. I'll get you caught up. I have the whole set of books at my school library." The boy lifted the book up from his lap. "Do you want me to start over from the beginning, or just pick up where I left off?" 

The man was silent for a moment. 

"Whichever you decide is best," Finn said. "I believe that you know better than I." 

"Man, I love your accent. It's really cool. Where are you from anyway?" Stiles blurted out. 

"Where are we now?" Finn asked. Maybe he had hit his head pretty hard. 

"Beacon Hills, California," the boy told him. 

"Ah. I was born in in a place I believe they call Mystic Falls now, but my siblings and I traveled overseas for quite some time," Finn said. The boy noted that his voice hitched a little when he said siblings, and his eyes went blank, his already pale skin leeching of blood. Well, that couldn't be good. 

"Is Mystic Falls in America?" Stiles asked, trying to think of a distraction. 

"Yes," Finn said. 

"Oh, okay. Do you mind if I start reading again?" Stiles asked. 

"If you would prefer to do so. That would be nice," Finn said simply. 

Stiles cleared his throat and flipped open his book, setting his bookmark on the armrest. The man watched him. 

" _'Very pretty!' said Gandalf. 'But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.'_

_'I should think so - in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them,' said our Mr. Baggins, and stuck one thumb behind his braces, and blew out another even bigger smoke-ring. Then he took out his morning letters, and began to read, pretending to take no more notice of the old man. He had decided that he was not quite his sort, and wanted him to go away. But the old man did not move. He stood leaning on his stick and gazing at the hobbit without saying anything, till Bilbo got quite uncomfortable and even a little cross._

_'Good morning!' he said at last. 'We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water.' By this he meant that the conversation was at an end._

_'What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!' said Gandalf. 'Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off.'_

_'Not at all, not at all, my dear sir! Let me see, I don't think I know your name..._ " 


	4. Chapter 4

He had not fed in quite some time. He remembered, vaguely, that he had done so after he had been undaggered by Elijah, but he could not remember feeding again after that. Despite the fact that he very much hated this part of his biology, he realized that he would require blood soon, or else he risked losing his usual ironclad composure and attacking any human being that came close to him. That prompted him, regardless of his reservations and residual nerves, to slip out of the window of the white room and go out into the town. The paper thin shift that covered him was not to his liking whatsoever, and he was grateful that the lady who had come to pick up Stiles had given him back his pants and shoes at least. 

_"Come on, Stiles. Your dad is waiting downstairs," she had said._

_"I can come back tomorrow, though, right?" the boy asked. "We're in the middle of the part where-"_

_"Yes. I'm sure you can. I'll bring you back, okay?" the nurse told him. The boy sighed and shut his book. He looked up at Finn._

_"I'll be back soon. See you tomorrow," Stiles promised. "My dad wants me to go home."_

_Finn felt himself smile just a little at the child._

_"That is fine. As you said, I can see you on the morrow," he said._

_"Yeah. You get some rest, man. You were kinda hit by a car," the boy replied. He gave him a small wave as the lady led him out of the room, clicking the door shut._

Finn noticed someone, a middle aged woman, walking with a grocery bag in her hand. He decided to follow her until she would be alone, moving behind her in the shadows on soft feet. A few minutes later, the woman entered an alley and that was the moment when he decided to come forward. He really did hope that he would be able to stop himself from draining her dry because he did not wish to kill anyone. He might be a thousand years old, but he had not been out and about for that entire amount of time. His last feeding had been from a bag, not a living person.

He only hoped that he did not lose control of himself. Loose gravel crunched under his black shoes with each step he took. Her heartbeat thudded fast in her chest as he abruptly appeared in front of her. The woman screamed in fright, her pulse quickening and making his hands itch toward her, so Finn looked deep into her eyes, letting his compulsion slip out against her mind, brushing intently. 

"Do not scream," Finn ordered. The woman immediately stopped, her pupils wide from the compulsion. "Now, do not run and do not be afraid. I am going to drink from you, but it is not going to hurt. You shall not feel any pain. When you start to feel faint, you will tell me, and I will stop." The woman was rooted in place, though she did not appear scared anymore. "Nod if you understand." The woman nodded. "Good."

Finn looked at the vein in her neck and felt his fangs slide down from his gums. He was so thirsty. Finn bit on the woman's neck as slowly and carefully as he could, gently cradling her head, keeping it in place with his hands so as to not hurt her. He felt the warm blood invading his mouth. A part of him – the rational part – felt a little disgusted at the idea of drinking blood, but most of him was too thirsty to care. That bothered him quite a lot. He really had waited too long before feeding. Though, as usual, the blood was delicious. He drank in small gulps, feeling his thirst receding slowly. Finn paused when he heard her voice. 

"I'm feeling faint," the woman murmured, sounding a bit drowsy. He stopped and detached his teeth from her neck. He looked into her eyes. 

"How are you feeling? Answer honestly," Finn said. 

"A little weak but good," the woman told him. 

Finn nodded. He wiped off the blood on her neck and rearranged her hair around her shoulders. The woman continued to stare blankly ahead. He ordered her to go home and told her that she would not remember what had happened. She agreed with him compliantly, and she picked up her grocery bag from the floor, walking back down the alleyway. Finn cleaned off the skin around his mouth with the back of his hand, and he absently licked off the blood from his skin to make it go away. Now that he was more in tune with his senses, he grimaced at the taste. 

The coppery tang of blood in his mouth made him swallow again at the bile that threatened to come up. He was so sick of the taste. So _damn_ sick of it. It did not matter that he compelled the person he fed from to remain calm and assured them that he would not harm them. All that came to mind was one of the several arguments that had occurred before Niklaus had become fed up with him and shoved a dagger through his heart. His younger half brother had never been one for patience, and the words that Finn tried to say only served to anger him. His siblings - Elijah, Rebekah, Kol - had only watched. They did not help him. 

_"Brother, cease your pathetic self loathing for a bloody second and let me think!" Niklaus snapped, his dark blue eyes blazing with anger. Finn clenched his teeth._

_"Pathetic?" Finn said. He stepped closer to his brother, feeling his composure start to crack. "How dare you? If you and Kol would stop killing everything that moved, we would not be in this mess, Niklaus."_

_"I said stop speaking!" Niklaus hissed._

_"I only speak the truth. If you cannot handle it, that is your issue, not mine," Finn said._

_"Shut. UP!" Niklaus snarled._

_He shoved the elder vampire and slammed him against the wall. His head cracked against the bricks hard, the impact so violent he saw spots. Finn let out a shocked sound, so quiet it was almost a whisper. The scent of his own blood flooded his nostrils. He looked down to see a dagger, one of the Five's, being pushed into his chest. Finn would have retaliated, but his vision started to fade. Everything went black as the tip pierced his heart, nothingness dragging him down to oblivion._

Finn rubbed at his forehead, breathing in and out through his nose. He did not wish to start panicking again. After a few minutes of calming his mind, he managed to make his way back towards the hospital with a minimal amount of trembling. The woman's blood buzzed inside his veins. He crawled back in through the window and removed his shoes to sit on the bed, crossing his legs under himself. Finn cocked his head as his eyes landed on a glossy thin book type object, and he picked it up. He flipped it open to satisfy his curiosity as to what it was. 


	5. Chapter 5

The hospital was always the same. Stark walls and floors, paint so white that it makes Stiles's eyes hurt. The air smelled funny. Cutting and _wrong._ His dad told him it was just chemicals. Stiles think it's just the sadness. He knew the way to his mom's room by heart, and he knew where each door was located. He could probably navigate his way through that wing with his eyes shut. Sometimes, his mom left bruises on his skin when she forgot who he was. He didn't hate her for it. It just made him sad. He was sad that she could forget him. Her own son. Stupid disease. 

His mother was usually the same, though, as the unchanging hospital. She was always impossibly small looking with dark purple smudges under her eyes and skin devoid of color. Her smile was weak, but yet it feels stronger than all of his dad's attempts combined. Stiles grinned and told her stories. He told her about Lydia Martin and how beautiful and cool she was. About how Jackson Whittemore had shoved him off of the monkey bars and how Scott had punched the other boy in the face for it. He also told her how much he loves her, and she told him that she loves him too while running her fingers over his short brown hair.

"Why don't you go and see Nurse Melissa?" his mom suggested in a breathy voice. "She might have a lollipop for you." He leaned closer to his mother and wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. Squeezing gently, he shuffled forward and pressed his face into her collar bone. She smelled sickly sweet, like ice cream but different. 

"Okay, Mama. I love you," Stiles murmured against her clammy skin before pulling away.

His mother smiled again and framed his face with her hands. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you too, sweetie," she told him. Stiles giggled and wiped at his forehead before hopping from the bed and scurrying out the door.

Stiles liked Scott's mom. She was kind of like his mom, or at least how she used to be. She was all warm smiles and gentle hands, Stiles was happy that Scott still has her, but he was also a little jealous. His own mom was not the same as she was a year ago, and that made Stiles want to cry. But he didn't. His father had called him a big boy, and big boys don't cry. He spotted Scott's mom behind the reception desk, chewing her lip and busily writing something down. Stiles watched as she tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. It made his fingers twitch. She looked up as if she sensed his presence and gave him a smile. 

"Hi, Stiles!" Melissa said. The woman pushed from the desk and knelt down in front of him. "Are you visiting your mom today?"

"Yeah. Do you know if the doctors found a way to fix her yet?" the boy asked. He knew it was a stupid question. Stiles wanted to believe that his mom will get better, that she'll be the same woman she was a year ago and things will go back to normal, but he wasn't stupid. He asked the same question each time, but he knew what the answer was. He guessed he just hoped that it would be different if he asked one more time. Melissa sighed and rubbed up and down his arms with her soft hands.

"The doctors are doing everything they can, honey," the nurse said. She paused and stared at Stiles with glistening eyes. "Do you want a sucker?"

The boy made himself smile at her, despite the ache in his chest, and he nodded silently. Melissa smiled at him and got him a lollipop from the jar beside her computer. Stiles accepted it with a quiet murmur of thanks. He stared at it for a moment. 

"Can I have one for Finn?" Stiles asked quietly. 

"Who, honey?" the nurse asked, turning back to him. 

"Finn. The guy I've been reading to the past couple of days," Stiles told her. 

"Oh. Of course you can," Melissa said. She reached back into her jar and handed him a purple lollipop. "There you go." The boy smiled and slipped it into his pocket. 

 

Stiles went inside the man's room and shut the door with a little click. The nurse had let him go by himself today because she had to tend to another patient. He didn't really mind. Stiles smiled at Finn, who was sitting cross legged on the bed over his blanket, a newspaper of some sort laid out in front of him. The man glanced up from the paper that he had been staring at very intently the second the boy stepped through the door. His brown eyes lit up just a little at the sight of Stiles, which made him feel kind of nice inside. He really liked making Finn feel better.

He had only known him for a bit, but he seemed like a cool guy. He was very attentive, and he would let Stiles ask him anything he wanted. Most adults got irritated from him talking too much. Finn didn't seem to mind. Stiles walked over to the man and held out the purple lollipop to him. Finn blinked, and he accepted it from the boy with a small frown. He looked confused, staring at the piece of candy and turning it a little in his hand. Stiles couldn't fight the smile that came to his lips. Finn looked up at him, a question in his eyes. 

"What is this?" he asked. 

"It's a lollipop. You haven't had one before?" Stiles asked curiously. 

"No. I cannot say that I have," Finn replied. 

"Well, you just peel off the wrapper and suck on it until it melts down to the stick. You can lick it, too, and bite it if you want," Stiles told him. "It's grape flavored." 

"I see," Finn said. He peered down at the lollipop and carefully unwrapped it. He set the wrapper down on his knee, and he stuck it in his mouth. Stiles watched as his eyes widened. 

"You like it?" the boy asked. Finn pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. 

"It is rather pleasant. A bit sweet, however," he said. 

"Well, yeah. It's candy, silly. All the good kind is sweet," Stiles told him. The man's lip twitched a little, and he tentatively licked the lollipop again. "Are you married?" 

"Pardon?" Finn said. 

"You have ring on your right hand. But it's got a blue stone, so... does it mean something else? Or no?" Stiles asked, gesturing to the silver band on his finger. The man looked down at his ring. 

"No. I must say not. I did wish to marry a woman once, but I was never able to do so, I'm afraid," Finn said. 

"What was she like?" Stiles asked. He paused. "Wait, is that - can I ask that?" 

"It is fine," the man assured him. He looked directly at Stiles. He smiled, getting a slightly distant look in his eyes. "She was a glorious woman, filled with fire. Her name was Sage." 


	6. Chapter 6

The boy pushed open the door to his mom's room, and he peered inside. He was going to talk to her, but he saw her eyes shut, her chest rising up and down slowly. It turned out that she was sleeping, so Stiles curled up in the abandoned chair at her bedside, watching her silently. He missed the days when he didn't have to worry about his mom being okay. Sometimes it was hard, especially when he saw Scott's mom, who was always so attentive even though her work kept her really busy. It was hard for Stiles to see his mom so weak, not even able to feed herself, or even eat most of the food she was fed.

He really wished he could do more for her. He also wished he didn't have to say goodbye. Stiles and his dad had talked a few times about what was to come. Most of the time, Stiles preferred not to think about it. The idea of his mom being gone forever only left him feeling miserable and upset for hours on end. He just wanted to be with her while she was here. He loved his mom, and he didn't want her to die. Why did she have to? It wasn't _fair._  

"Stiles?" his mom rasped suddenly. 

Stiles quickly stood up, leaning over the edge of the hospital bed to take his mom's hand.

"I’m here, Mom," the boy said. 

"Stiles," his mom murmured again, a weak smile on her lips. In the dim lighting of the room, Stiles can see that her eyes were only half open, as though it was too much effort to keep them open all the way. "Is your dad still here?"

Stiles shook his head.

"No. He had to go help some people," he told her. "But he'll be back soon. Do you need me to get a nurse?"

Stiles moved to press the nurse call button, a button he had pressed far too often in recent weeks, but his mom's grip on his hand tightened, making him pause.

"No," his mom said. Her voice had grown smaller, and Stiles had to lean closer to hear her. "Just... just listen."

"Okay," the boy responded.

Stiles was beginning to worry. His mom wasn't usually this feeble, having to push her words out as if it was a terrible chore. He moved to sit up next to her, holding her thin hand between his smaller ones. His mom was looking up at him through her lashes, her brown eyes dull.

"I want you to take care of your dad, baby," she told him. 

"Yeah, Mom," Stiles agreed. "I will. Family is forever."

It had been their motto for as long as he can remember, and the Stilinskis lived by it. Family had always been the strongest bond between them, and though their family was small, it's held them together through everything. Somehow though, saying it now, Stiles felt like it was a goodbye. It felt like forever ended _today._

"That's right, baby," his mom said with a smile. "And even when family isn't right here, they're always in your heart." She pressed her hand against his chest, and Stiles was sure that she can feel his heartbeat. It was pounding loudly in his chest, and he couldn't seem to make it stop. "Remember that, okay?"

Stiles nodded quickly, feeling the edges of his eyes begin to sting. 

"I will, Mom. I promise," he told her. 

"Good boy," his mom breathed. She leaned her head back onto the pillows, taking a labored breath. "I love you, Stiles."

"I love you, too, Mom," the boy said.

Stiles couldn't bring himself to look away from her, but she had already shut her eyes again. After a few moments, her grip on his hand became lax, and Stiles started to shake.

"Mom?" Stiles said. He squeezed her hand. This wasn't like her falling asleep in the middle of conversations. She had done that dozens of times, but this felt different. His mom looked so still, and Stiles was panicking, his breath becoming trapped in his chest. He pressed the nurse call button, even though his mom had told him not to. "Mom?" His voice got louder.

A nurse hurried into the room, but after taking a glance at the bed, she immediately walked back out, yelling for a doctor. This just freaked the boy out even more, and he started calling out for his mom over and over again. His voice grew hoarse, his throat getting tight and achy. 

"Mom!" Stiles said.

Inside, he knew what the nurse had known with one glance. But he refused to believe that his mom was gone. It couldn't happen now. He hadn’t had enough time. She was leaving too early. His dad wasn't even here to say goodbye. Stiles should have told her to wait, to give them more time. His eyes were overflowing with tears now, his vision blurring, and he was yelling for her, gripping his mom's hand far too hard. The tears burned hot against his cheeks as they streamed down, soaking his shirt. He trembled almost violently. 

"Mama, please come back!  _Please!"_ he cried, pushing away a nurse who tried to pull him off of the bed. "No! I can't leave her! She  _needs_  me!"

He didn't say what he really meant. That _he_ needed _her._  It took three nurses and a small shot of sedation to calm him down enough that they could get to his mom, and by then Stiles was wrung out. He sat back in a chair as the bustling in the room increased, watching it all in a haze, his eyes open wide and not really seeing anything. A time of death was marked out loud, and suddenly Stiles didn't want to be anywhere near there anymore. He pushed himself to his feet, and he slipped out of the room, unnoticed by the group of employees surrounding his mom's bed. 

After pausing for a moment in the hall, he turned left instead of right. Normally he would go sit with Scott in their waiting room, but he couldn't bring himself to face that right now. He just wanted to be left alone right now. Stiles was not sure of how far he walked until he finds another room in the hallway that opened. He could barely see from the tears in his eyes. But as soon as he got there, it was as though any energy his body had left seeped right out of him. He collapsed gracelessly into a chair and leaned forward to put his head in his hands. The sobs wracking his body were silent as images of his mom's still form raced through his mind.

He was curled in on himself, tears and snot smeared all over his face. A large, almost cold hand was placed on his shoulder, and the boy simply let himself be wrapped in a firm embrace. He couldn't really tell who it was from this angle, nor did he really care right now. He could not describe the agony he was feeling right now, and he needed a hug. A hand rubbed soothing circles over his back as he buried his face in their chest, sobbing and shaking. 


	7. Chapter 7

Finn had finally figured out how to check himself out of the hospital a few days after he had the crying boy in his arms. He had held him for what could have been hours, until he felt his quiet sobs die down to mere sniffles, shaky breaths rattling his small frame. Finn had run his hand up and down his back, keeping his arms firmly around him. When he had been little, his big sister had used to hug him like that when he was scared or sad. Freya... he missed her. She had died of the Plague that had struck the nearby villages, and their little family had never been quite the same. 

Freya had been the only person to give him a hug like that. Father saw nearly all forms of emotions as weaknesses, and therefore not something to be discussed or shown. Mother, he loved her, yes, but he had never been embraced. A hand ran through his hair or a palm cupping his face, her blue eyes staring into his intently, was the closest that she had ever gotten. Elijah had used to cling to him when they were younger, following him around like a little duckling. That was before Niklaus had been born however. Everyone preferred to go to Elijah for problems they had rather him. 

Finn was the unapproachable one. He was the eldest. The next head of the family. He did everything that was required of him. But he had never quite fit in. He was the boring son. While he was never beaten like his half brother or ignored like Kol, he was not the one that Father actually liked. Though he doubted the man actually liked any of his children. Not since Freya, and he would never, _never_ begrudge her that pedestal that she had been sat upon. He had loved her just as much. Freya was just... so _lovely._ Vibrant and caring, doting on her little brother whether their parents were looking or not. 

He discretely fed again, careful to make sure that the man was fine and on his way home before he went out into the town. He had used to go days without feeding before, and his siblings thought he was simply being a whiny stuck up prat, starving himself as some sort of twisted penance for the curse of what he was. What they were. While he did indeed hate what he had become, he was mostly testing his self restraint. He had no need to tear through entire settlements of humans and drain them dry like his brothers. Why should he do so when he could be calm and composed, feeding once every few says and remaining in control of himself? Human life was precious. It should not be wasted. He might be a monster, but he did not have to act like one. 

Finn had not killed the humans he fed from since they were allowed to move amongst the people of towns freely without constant fear of Mikael, much to his siblings' disdain. Unfortunately, due to his prolonged imprisonment inside that accursed box, he would have to work at regaining his rigid feeding habits. He was able to remain fairly in control of himself while feeding, but he still could not fight the urge to go looking for fresh blood at least once a day. Finn despised that hungry feeling that boiled in his guts, prompting him to go out and hunt. It made him feel weak. If he ever harmed that sweet child who had stayed by his side by succumbing to a fit of hunger, he would never be able to forgive himself. 

 

Stiles hadn't really felt safe walking home since his mom passed away. He used to get a ride from her in her Jeep, but his dad could only drop him off in the morning. He was really busy with work, always working. That meant walking home. At least, until he was old enough to get his license. His dad had helped him pick out the best route to walk home, and that had been that. To be honest, it would not be that bad if not for the company he happened to pick up on the way sometimes. The boy stiffened as the crunch of gravel underneath tennis shoes reached his ears. 

"Oh, cute, you're trying to ignore me," Jackson, Beacon Hills Elementary's resident assmunch called with a smirk.

The other boy jogged lightly to catch up to the fast pace Stiles had set. Just half an hour left of walking. He could totally do this. Stiles took a deep breath to keep his body from panicking at what he knew was going to come. Jackson had always been this way to him. For some reason, he just had to pick on the scrawny weird kid that talked too much and his best friend with the shaggy hair. It wasn't that bad usually, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with the other boy at the moment. On top of everything else, it just felt like he was rubbing salt into an open wound. Stiles grit his teeth as Jackson came closer. 

"Come on, Stilinski! Slow down a bit," Jackson said.

He reached out and pulled the smaller boy's hood down from over his head and tugged. Stiles choked, stumbling as his momentum was interrupted, and he fell to the pavement. He winced as he felt the damp ground under his palms and knees. It had been raining earlier this morning. Great. Now he had to walk home in soaked jeans. He felt tears threaten to spill over, pricking at the edges of his eyes. The boy inhaled through his nose, fighting back the urge. His palms stung, the flesh of them torn and raw, tiny droplets of blood welling up. 

"Stop," Stiles croaked out, wiping his scraped hands against the fabric of his jeans. His backpack had fallen off his shoulder, and the contents spilled across the ground. Jackson laughed when Stiles made an attempt to stand and gather his things, pushing his shoulder roughly until he fell back down. 

"Did I say you could get up?" the other boy scoffed, gripping the front of his shirt roughly and kneeling down, invading his personal space. Stiles let his irritation get the best of his common sense, and he chuckled humorlessly in the other boy's face. He could feel Jackson's breath on his face, they were so close to each other. 

"Is this the part where we kiss like in the movies?" Stiles asked, sarcasm all but dripping from his words.

He fluttered his eyelashes at Jackson. The other boy let go of him with a disgruntled expression and spat on him. Stiles picked himself up from the ground in time to see Jackson's startled face. He followed his gaze to where he was looking. Stiles blinked when he saw Finn standing in front of them, dressed in something other than a hospital gown. His black trenchcoat type jacket hung down to his knees, unbuttoned over a grey shirt and dark jeans. His wild brown hair hung around his face as per usual, the curls landing just past his shoulders.

Finn knelt down in front of the boy, and he scooped him up in a single motion, carrying Stiles in his arms like he weighed nothing at all. Stiles hadn't even seen him pick up his things, but he could see the backpack, zipped up, on Finn's shoulder. He looked sternly at Jackson. Disapproval was quite obvious in the man's eyes despite the stoic set of his face. Jackson looked a bit freaked out by Finn. 

"Do not do anything similar to this in the future. I will find out, and I will not be as lenient, boy," Finn said. Stiles was a bit shocked himself at the turn of events, but the expression on Jackson's face was sort of priceless. 


	8. Chapter 8

When Stiles finished his homework, he put the notebook paper carefully into his folder. He didn't want to lose it because it took him an hour to focus on finishing all the math problems. He was good at math, but he didn't enjoy doing it that much. Not like science, where he got to see what makes thing work or, even better, getting to experiment. Not even like English, where he got to write about stuff that maybe didn't always fit the topic but still got him points. His teacher liked him, that was probably why. She was the only one that encouraged his creativity, calling it his 'spark'. 

Once he had got his homework put up, he realized it was later than he thought. He was hungry, and it was going to be bedtime soon. That meant his dad had to be home, but Stiles didn’t hear him at all. He knew what that meant, and he kicked his desk with his foot, just hard enough to not leave an ache. His feet curled up in his sneakers. Because it made him sad and angry, and he didn't really know how to make it feel better. It was how he had been feeling for a while now, since his mom died, and it just seemed to get worse. It made him feel helpless, and he hated it. 

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he kicked the desk again. It didn't really make it better, but it helped for a few seconds. That was better than nothing. His stomach was growling, so he couldn't hide in his room any longer. He went downstairs, walking quietly when he hears a sports game playing on the television. He looked into the living room and made a face when he saw his dad passed out on the sofa, uniform shirt unbuttoned, an empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor by his hand. Stiles's eyes stung even more, but he ignored that as he carefully picked up the bottle and put it on the table. The TV was loud, but he couldn't turn it down without waking his dad up. He found that out a week ago, and he was not going to do that again.

Instead, he got an old blanket off the chair that his mom had used to wrap around herself during cold winter nights. He put it over his dad, tucking it around him before hurrying out of the room. Going into the kitchen, he glanced inside the fridge and saw that it was almost empty. His dad had forgotten to buy groceries again. It had happened a few times since Mom died, and he figured it'd happen again. He was not going to tell Scott's mom this time, though, because his dad had been angry last time. Maybe he can sneak some money out of his dad's wallet when he’s sleeping, so he can go to the store himself after school tomorrow. Finn would probably go with him. 

There weren't many options for dinner, so he ended up slathering peanut butter on some crackers that tasted a little stale but were edible with enough peanut butter on them. When he finished eating, not really full but also not that hungry anyway, he washed the dishes piled in the sink because his mom had always hated when dirty dishes were left out for long. He had to stand on a chair to reach the cabinets to put away everything, but he was resourceful, so he managed. He quietly walked back upstairs to his room, shutting his door and sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor, just looking at the shadows on his wall made from the moonlight and tree outside his window. His breath slipped out of his mouth in a soft sigh. 

 

Finn preferred to spend his time outside. That was a bit ironic because when he had been younger, he had only ever wanted to stay inside, knuckle deep in herbs, helping his mother, or reading ancient scrolls, sitting by the fireplace. It was not considered a very 'manly' thing perhaps, but Mikael had indulged in his mother's whim of having her favorite son close by when he was not needed elsewhere. However, after so much time in that horrible coffin, remaining inside of anywhere for too long made his skin start to itch. It was not that bad if he was in a place that was open, but it bothered him very much if he was somewhere that was too tightly packed. 

He still loved to read though, and the local library, what a place it was. There were so many books that he felt himself become overwhelmed at the sight of them, as he was with most things in this century. He detested feeling so lost and out of place, not even able to comprehend the simple lingo that children of this era knew, but he was slowly working at getting better. Finn did enjoy running his fingers over the bindings of the books, so very practical and different from the scrolls he had used as a child and young adult. The pages flipped rather than being rolled up, and one could have much more read in one sitting. It was all simply fascinating. 

Finn went when the sun was in that position in the sky to wait for the boy to get out of school to walk him home. It did not seem very safe for the child to have to be going so far by himself. Even his siblings and the children in the village were not allowed to go too far away from home by themselves. While that was mostly so that they would not get eaten or kidnapped, Finn was certain that this century had its own version of that. And as emotionally stunted as Finn tended to be, it did seem that he could call the boy his friend. He did not wish for anything ill to happen to him. 

His ears pricked as the bell rang, and he moved up from the bench, stepping closer to the outpour of children. After a few minutes, the boy came walking out of the school by himself, having said his farewell to his friend. Stiles gave him a smile and waved, walking up to him. His thumbs were stuck in the loop of his backpack's straps. The soles of blue shoes crunched over the loose gravel as he neared the vampire. 

"Hello, Stiles," Finn greeted. 

"Hi," Stiles said. He looked up at him. "Hey, do you mind if we make a pitstop today? I gotta get some groceries from the store." 

"Does your father not do that?" Finn asked, confused. 

"Oh, well, yeah, he does, but he was tired, ya know?" Stiles responded. Finn could tell he was not quite telling the truth. He frowned for a moment before he spoke. 

"Very well. Of course we may go to the store," Finn said. 

"Thanks, Finn," the boy told him. The little grateful smile that Stiles gave him made him feel nice. Finn felt his lips twitch up a tad. "Off we go, then!" Stiles lifted up his hand, index finger raised, and he pointed north. He began to march in that direction, and Finn walked after him with a small amused smile. 


End file.
